I've Got To Be Direct
by Honey-On-Toast
Summary: Jane is experimenting with Lucid Dreaming to expand her opportunities for creativity, but her unconscious seems to be preoccupied with a certain someone. Will Daria figure it out or will Jane settle with a one-sided love for her best friend? F/F Jane/Daria Rated for minor swearing.
1. I've got to be direct

I've been staring deadpan at my painting for nearly an hour. For nearly 2 weeks, I've been experimenting, a personal project so to speak. I decided to start a journal where I record my dreams, so I can use them for inspiration for my work. It'd be my personal equivalent of Carl Jung's Red Book, only not so much writing and more imagery. As of late, my vivid dreams have been taking a toll on my perception of reality. The dreams start out like some psychedelic, surreal Salvador Dali trip, which then slides and crashes into some Zdzisław Beksiński dystopia. Is it the idea that my vision of the world has been and is still 'sugar-coated?'. Is it the harsh truth that people have been trying to put a veil over my eyes and guide me into an alluring hypnosis that's hellbent on rendering me oblivious and stupid...? Well, congratulations Jane's unconscious, you've caught up with the rest of the brain. Maybe next time you can aid me when I'm memorizing for math tests.

So right now, my thoughts are kinda jumbled. This is definitely not the first painting of the 'series', and I don't want it to be the last. There's something intriguing and unintentionally haunting and sinister about them. I'd done a number of them, including a painting with Jesus wearing a balaclava, holding a distressed child and standing in front of a burning building. I remember feeling a particular rise in anger and frustration after waking from that one. I remember the smell of smoke and loud noises. I think there was a riot. My point is that things seemed unfocused. Messages were going crazy in my head once I started recording, what I could decipher from them anyway. They came out faster than I could write them down. That was a particular discipline I had to set for myself, which was waking up in the middle of the night, so I could take notes before it escaped my memory.

Recently, I've noticed a pattern. My mind seems to have finally settled on a particular theme and I've been perplexed about it for my last few paintings. There's a reoccurring use of hues: always blacks, greens and reds. The appearance of these works are always sharp and deliver a blunt contrast. At first, I was worried I was stumbling into abstract territory, because it almost just looked like I had Artist's Block, just squares and scratches of paint on the canvas. I then started to form something like cubist paintings. I'm not a fan of the style, but it's just what seemed to work. Reds seem to be isolated, locked away or just absorbed and conquered by black. Green seemed to be overwhelming in these pictures. I wonder if that's of some significance?

My ears pick up on a distinctive sound, footsteps, coming towards my room. Without tearing my stare away from the canvas, I call clearly.

"Come in, Daria"

The click and squeak of the door handle confirms her entry. "There's something intimidating about how you automatically know it's me" shot that monotone from the doorway. Although some people may find the nature of her tedious speech a wear in their patience, I find an oddly assuring vibe about it.

"Shall I not give a warning next time and just abruptly drop on you, like a stealth ninja?"

"Why not? Having you deliver me from such a mundane existence would be an act of mercy"

I can't help but have my lips curl into a small smile in amusement.

"So, has your style gone completely Rothko slash Picasso, or is there still a ounce of Jane Lane somewhere in there?" she verbally pokes, wandering over to the piece in progress.

"I don't really know if I'm stuck or just coming to terms with a new style for myself" I admit with a defeated shrug. There's nothing I'm sincerely proud of in anything I've done recently.

"I thought this was just an experiment" Daria queries, obviously pondering my dedication for the private pieces.

"Well,... it is"

"So, what are you worried about?"

That's it. I can't look at this damn thing anymore. It's driving me nuts. I walk away from it and turn on the TV, lounging on the bed.

Daria follows suit, sitting cross legged beside me with a book.

"One flew over the Cuckoos Nest? Again?" I ask.

"Hey, it's a good book"

"Reaches close to home for you, you reckon?" I joke, returning my eyes to the flickering screen.

"All to well, minus the shock therapy. A lobotomy for my birthday would be the best thing ever"

"Make sure to sign me up for one too then" I say, my smile growing into a grin.

I can feel her eyes lock onto me from the side. We both know we can't stand some days with the same morons every minute of every hour. Being in each others company, even if for the sheer silence or the pizza, feels like a form of relief. We both tire so much and so often. We're each others therapy when things don't go quite right. Right now, it kinda feels that way for us both. It's how long that persistent silence lasts that begs for questions. We hide little from each other. Speaking of pizza...

* * *

"Have you ever experienced lucid dreaming?" Daria asks, muffled by the mouthful of cheese and pepperoni. There's a hint of genuine curiosity in her voice.

"I did last night. It's something I'd be expecting. People said I would be experiencing it at some point due to these paintings"

"So what did you do? What happened?"

"Eh,... I can't give you the skinny of it just yet" I reply hesitantly.

"Skinny?" she delivers, puzzled.

"In other words, I don't think I can tell you"

She's taken aback by that, but then shrugs dismissively. What would she think if I told her? I mean, that's what this painting was about... On my canvas are two distinct figures, painted in white, in a bed of black, merging between etches and cloudy smears of dark green and red. Instead of them being separate, according to the consecutive nature of the last paintings, the colours intermix within the dark. Unlike the previous works, there's an oddly... intimate feel about it. It's warm, despite the hard colours and I now just keep furthering my attention to the two figures, who appear to be floating or descending in a large space, one reaching for the other, as they apparently fall.

My heart starts racing, thinking that if even if I refrain from explicitly telling Daria about my dream, she'd be able to tell the story from my painting in a second. Perhaps if I play dumb, she'll over look it and forget about it.

"What do you plan on doing with these paintings?" Daria's voice arises from the silence quite sharply.

"Do with them?" I ask stupidly.

"Are they gonna be in a portfolio or is it intended to be kept private?"

"Err, I haven't really decided. I'd like to exhibit them I guess"

"I'm just thinking you should be careful about how personal you make these"

"Well, I don't have to tell people the full or real reason for them. A few of my favourite artists got some of their most successful pieces from nightmares and times that really tested them"

"Whatever you say" she sighs, her eyes returning to her book.

My brows narrow in irritation. "What's the problem?"

"I don't have a problem. I just think when it comes to some forms of expression, people may say or do things without thinking of the consequences. You may uncover some memories, fears or thoughts in this experiment you'd rather have buried and forgotten. Taking into account what other people think too. But, if that's the last thing on your mind, then go for it"

"Daria, artists have to develop a thick skin. I can take criticism for the quality of my work"

"That's not what I mean" she says, serious. My heart skips a beat at that and I go quiet. She sighs, flicking her hair back, brushing strands from her eyes and puts down her book, walking over to the painting. Instinctively, for whatever reason, I stand in front of the painting, arms stretched out. "Jane, what're you doing?"

"You can't see it yet". She raises a brow at me, a rare sight.

"I can't make my point, until I see it"

"It's... nearly finished" I stutter, desperation in my voice. What is wrong with me? If I could step outside myself for a moment to observe my actions, I'd kick myself or push myself across the room, far out the way.

However, Daria takes a step back, her eyes darting about at my reactions and turns back to the bed. "If I'm being intrusive to your work and interfering I can leave"

"W-wait! No... err..."

I know full on well I'm not acting like myself. What do I care if people see my work? But this isn't just any painting and this isn't just any person. It's my best friend. It's Daria.

"Give me just a few minutes and I'll show it to you"

She stares me down with that casual, disinterested, but not empty, expression "Well, okay".

* * *

Daria distracts herself by finishing off the rest of her book. I can feel her occasionally gaze in my direction. She could feel that I was nervous. The atmosphere was tense and tight in the room, like I was being strangled and Daria was the one doing it. I could just say no to her, but there's a determination in me to want to show her. Is it because I think the image will be more clear than my words? What was I even trying to say?

After a painstaking 15 minutes, I throw my paintbrush carelessly into the cup of water, a high pitched 'TINK' signifying my finish. I look it over. Now I feel I'm awaiting an execution.

"Done" I mumble and stand clear away from it to show her, arms folded, looking to the side, like it's nothing. That's right Miss Lane. You just keep telling yourself that. Just chill.

The lingering suspense, the weight in my chest and stomach, dissipate. No, crumble, and reassemble into a straining clump in my throat, so I can't speak. My friend pushes herself off the bed and walks over. She squints her eyes for a moment, then studies the picture.

"I'm drowning" she says plainly.

Yep.

"And you're... diving in to save me?"

"No"

"No?"

"I'm joining you" I mutter, trying to find my confidence again. This information is little surprising to her, but she continues.

"I notice the use of colours is really different. Instead of being blocked and intensely contrasting, they're intertwined and blended"

Maybe I worried about this too much. Maybe she won't pick up on it.

"What's your diagnosis, Dr. Morgendorffer?" I finally emit, uplifting myself and the general mood a tad.

"Is it to go on the basis of what I think, or is there an actual meaning behind this?" she wonders aloud.

"I've estimated my own conclusion, but I'd like to see what you'll surmise"

She stands back, adjusting her glasses and gives her impression: "From what I've gathered, this particular art has a certain importance to it, distinguished by its visual deviance from the previous paintings and emotional investment that was implied by your reaction quarter-of-an-hour prior to me observing it. From what I can tell, it communicates a sense of desperation seeded in our friendship, that we're incapable of survival in this world without the other and that if one ventures into a dark, overwhelming period of their life, it won't be faced alone. Also judging by the poses and positions, seeing I'M the one who is drowning, it seems as though you've experienced seeing me being in those times and desire either to be with me during that time for re-assurance or suffer along with me. It also implies you have the power to get me OUT of that situation, seeing as you are reaching for me and have an opportunity to 'save me', but instead follow me into the depths, giving the idea that the fate in which we face, which is inevitable, is more desirable to the concept of feeling we must live according to particular societal standards".

I smile widely at that analysis, it being probably a lot more understanding than I anticipated, certainly being more observant than other forms of criticism and praise I'd received from teachers.

"That's pretty much-"

"I have one more theory" she states firmly.

"Oh?"

"That being that you're trying to reach for me, but cannot. Instead, you're in a form of limbo, constantly trying and putting your efforts into something that ultimately won't guarantee any reward. That you're trying to tell me something, but your words either fall on deaf ears or you cannot communicate what you're trying to, despite the scenario threatening to drag the both of us deep into a pressurized, harsh situation"

My smile vanishes and my heart plummets deep into my stomach. How the hell did she piece together something like that? Am I that obvious? I gulp a little and look away, seeing my death sentence has been given the green flag.

Her voice appears oddly soft now, still carrying the traditional monotone and she turns her head to look at me "ARE you trying to tell me something?"

I wonder slowly back over to the bed and sit down, staring at the box of half eaten pizza. Way to go, making things god-damn awkward, Jane Lane. Why can't you just shut these feelings out and walk on? What are you expecting out of this anyway?

"C'mon, Jane. You can tell me"

She's come over to me now. My head is in my hands and I stare at her boots. I can't bare looking up at her. "You were right, about everything in the painting"

"Everything?"

"Yeah and... well, you mean a hell of a lot to me, not meaning to get mushy or anything, but..."

"You? Mushy? And I thought that painting was FAR from any sentimentality"

I frown playfully at her sarcasm.

"You figured I was gonna think you were mushy? Is that it? That's what you were worried about?"

"No, that's not it" I sigh, a blush tainting my cheeks. She can't see it, as I'm facing the floor. I feel a weight on the bed next to me, as she sits down and the blush spreads further. Dammit. Since when did I start feeling like this for Daria anyway? It's so ridiculous.

"Are you going to tell me or shall we leave it as a suspenseful cliffhanger?"

"I'm scared I'll lose you. I know it sounds stupid, but time seems to be going quickly now. Everybody's starting their OWN lives and I just hate to think what we have is temporary" I confessed, sadness evident in my tone.

"It doesn't have to be"

I go silent. I don't know what to say anymore, which is fine, because she keeps it going. "Things are going to change for everyone. It's the way it is, but our friendship isn't going to disintegrate because of it. Friendships take work, just as much as relationships. Over time, they'll either strengthen or fade, but don't you believe for a second that I'd be willing to let it die so easily"

A little hope sparks in my chest and I finally lift my head up. She looks to me with a sincere, determined expression. The one that says 'you can trust me' and 'life sucks majorly'. I feel my heart go haywire in my chest again. Yeah, there was no mistaking it. I had a big stupid crush on my best friend. Why are these feelings so persistent and annoying? I frown a little.

"You believe me, right?" she queries. Dare I pick up a bit of sadness in her voice too? Highly distinctive from her usual tone. She's certainly no misery chick. Underneath her hard exterior, I may have been foolish to think for a moment she wouldn't have considered this too at some point: that there lingered the possibility of us parting, going separate ways. I can't stand that and that thread of reluctance, of fear, that's been holding me back, snaps and my arms wrap around her, drawing her close. I feel her breath hitch into a gasp, but I don't detect any resistance or want for pulling away. She sits and accepts it, relaxing into the embrace. My heart keeps thumping in my chest. Christ, I hope she can't hear it. She soon warms more to the gesture and I feel her arms reach around and hold me too.

This probably wasn't the smartest move. But, like she said, some people don't put thought into their actions when they're expressing themselves. Perhaps since this was the 'lesson' today, she'd give me a pass and forgive me for this one.

"I love you"

I blink. Things are vague with these high run emotions right now. Who said that? Her? Me? Was it me?

She pulls away and gives me a look, half quizzical, half shock.

Holy crap, it was me! What the hell, brain? Blame it on the pizza! The heat of the moment! What? Just, fricking WHAT?!

"D-Don't get the wrong idea, Daria! I meant as a friend. Obviously. Of course, right?"

"Cool it, I haven't said anything yet. It just surprised me. I guess you are a mushy one after all"

"Oh, shut it" I snap, folding my arms like a grumpy child.

"I feel so overcome with emotions. What would happen if you said that in a romantic context? Would you break my legs?" she pondered, dripping with sarcasm.

"Nah, I'd tie you up and let the Fashion squad escort you away somewhere to be their beauty guinea-pig for eternity" I reply with a smirk.

She responds with a restrained huff, almost a laugh "Wow, you must really love me"

I give an amused smile and she seems to return it.

"So is that your painting in a nutshell? It was a love letter to me?" she questions, returning to her serious tone. I spot a hint of red on her cheeks.

"K-Kinda..." I admit, embarrassed. "You aren't weirded out by it, are you?"

"The subtext is flattering, it's symbolic, I think it's cool"

I smile warmly in relief.

"Still, that's kinda a lot to build up just to say you care about me. Did you really care what I thought that much?"

"Of course I do. I mean I don't really know how well you take displays of affection and reckoned this would be a safe way of doing it"

"I wouldn't say anything cruel to you, though"

"And you haven't"

"So why were you so doubtful and embarrassed?"

* * *

 _It's so cold. My body is swallowed by the salty waters, sending a violent spasm throughout me at the sudden drop in temperature. I can hear, almost feel, the firing of raindrops, littering the surface of the water above me. It's amplified due to the absence of other sounds, apart from a dismal groan, developing into a thunderous bellow far below me. Opening my eyes, I notice the green of Daria's jacket as she begins to sink into the dark. Immediately, my concerns for warmth are discarded and I start swimming after her. I let out a mouthful of air, hoping I drop faster as my lungs empty. Deeper and deeper. The pressure starts to crush me from all around and tears sting my eyes, not really knowing if one can cry under water. It's no use, she just keeps sinking further and further, just out of my reach. My heart is on the verge of shattering as she begins to disappear from my vision. I have no care for resurfacing now, just as long as I can grab a hold of her.  
_

 _IT'S JUST A DREAM._

 _A sense of awareness finds me. That helplessness I once had, the feeling of abandon and loss, evaporates and I can suddenly feel my arms fighting against the water, almost as if I gained super strength, like I can do anything, as I pick up the pace, swimming, sinking, faster. I reach out, my fingers just brushing hers and they interlock and I pull her to me. Her eyes open wide and she sees me. She's terrified, then relieved as she sees me, her pupils normal having shrunk from terror. I offer her a re-assuring smile, stroking the side of her face affectionately and press my lips to hers. It's getting darker now, colder, but at least now, you're not alone._

* * *

She's still sat there, awaiting my response.

"Earth to J. Lane " she humorously waves in my face.

"Huh?"

"Cripes, I was worried pizza micro-organisms had hi-jacked your brain. Why did you doubt my reaction to your art piece?"

My heart aches. Her reaction, the thought of our friendship finishing. I can't tell her. I'd dare not risk it.

"No reason" I mumble.

 **End of Part 1**  



	2. If I'm wrong, please correct

**Daria**

Since that peculiar evening with Jane during the weekend, there's been a noticeable sense of difference detected between me and her. Though it was an odd occasion for us to show genuine emotions, even in regards to considering the personal well being of one another, I can't help but feel that since then, there's a tension that's keeping us at bay from pursuing on with our lives as normal. Not only that, but that barrier being wedged between our ability to communicate is growing thicker and thicker. I can't re-call a single instance where I heard her voice at all this week. There's this silence that we're comfortable with in each others presence, where one or both individuals is engaged in work or an activity that's helping them be relieved of some form of stress or conflicting emotions. We understand that need for space and we respect it. This silence right now is nothing like that. It's been going on too long.

As I stop at my locker, after having walked all the way to school with her, I notice her just continue walking on towards class. Usually, she'd wait up. Usually she'd talk. What's happened between us? Did I say something wrong? Did I DO something?

"Good morning, Daria" coos a sweet voice.

"Oh, hi Jodie" I greet, sorting through my text books.

"I'm handing out a form right now for fellow students. It's nothing big, just feedback about our current facilities in the school and how you rate each class's quality out of 10"

"By the grade-A quality of facilities, are you talking about the apparent crater in the gym that's turning into a soul-consuming chasm, or the ceiling tiles hanging in the lunch room that are waiting to drop fatally onto the next victim?" I offer nonchalantly.

She's used to this by now, twisting her face slightly and shaking her head. If we were both telepathic, my skull would be inflating with her 'tsks'. At least she gets what I'm saying unlike some air-heads around here. She hands me a form.

"I hope you find the time to fill this out today" she says with tired optimism.

"No problem"

"Thanks. Hey, where's Jane? I want to give her one too"

"You'll have to go on a Lane expedition, possibly have to hunt her out of the decaying walls of this place"

"Please don't tell me you guys had a fight"

I shut the door to my locker and walk with her. "Our connection has been dead for days. I don't understand what I could've said or done. But, no. There was no fight between us"

"That's a relief" she smiles, brushing from her shoulder some of the apparently falling pieces of plaster from the ceiling. "You're right, Daria. This place is crumbling like a cookie. Who am I kidding with these damn forms?"

"We even had a big talk before this all happened. I said before how she has this aura of confidence that I admire. Something seems to be interfering with it now. Like it's become tainted or shaken by something"

"What was it you talked about?"

"It's kinda personal, but the skinny is that she's found a new inspiration for her art. She's taking inspiration from her dreams, recording them and using them as a basis for her work"

Her face lights up in wonder "Hey, that could be really cool"

"Yeah, not a bad idea. The only problem is that through this, I think she's starting to come to terms with some unconscious messages. Some really early pieces in the study are awesome. Probably a result of her brain overflowing with information. Of course a lot of them a very depraved and violent, but the most recent ones seem to be hanging on a more personal, emotional thread and I think somethings snagged at that and made her the way she is now with me"

"My guess is that through her art, as she's described it to me at some point like meditating, she's managed to still the noise in her mind. She could be figuring out something about herself. You may just need to give her time"

I give out a long sigh. I hope I don't start talking to myself again, like when Jane took up running.

"Skinny...?"

"Don't ask"

* * *

 **Jane**

It's hard to focus, when I can feel the stares of Miss Defoe and Daria burrowing into my back. I've already made my point I'm trying to zone out by putting on my headphones. It's a pain when people try to engage in conversation and pester me. Once I get into the mood and flow of my art, it feels like meditation. You're in a void and you're the creator, bringing something raw and enlightening into existence. Maybe it makes people think, maybe it makes people gag. It exists for a reason. You can't argue with that.

Today's work is spontaneous, which is nice, just so we have something to show at the end of the lesson. I promised the teacher to show a sample of my work and the ideas I've been working on. Eventually, the pairs of eyes get the drift and have enough consideration not to bug me. Daria is beside me, also with an easel, painting. Her movements are restricted, but soft, confident and care-free. Me, I feel like a corpse going into the stages of rigor mortis. This is the worst. Not artists block. I growl quietly to myself and put down my brushes. They won't do it. Right now I'm working on a stormy sky. I hate simple stuff like that, but hey, it's called layering. I'm gonna keep building on it. I figure I'll use my fingers. My nails. Something to scratch.

Everyone has the intention to make their artwork as pretty as possible in this room, but no way is that my agenda. My art right now is about expression. In particular, my dreams. And in no way, have those been either pleasant or pretty.

* * *

 _What's that saying? Mr Nietzsche? That when you gaze long enough into the abyss, that the abyss will stare into you? This is certainly no abyss. It's an enormous, dense, black fog, the stench of gasoline wafting through it. If I squint, I can make out squiggly, almost non-existent threads in it, of red and green. That damn significance. I know what it represents by now. I walk through it, no sight of the surface I'm walking on. I'm blind. It's a guess. I could trip or fall any moment.  
_

 _The fog washes out in force into my face, as there is an impending revelation before me. What appears to be an eye, the sclera a wet, irritated red and the iris a blunt blue. It blinks at me, the spherical monstrosity, and further detected movement beneath me startle me, like something is slithering at my feet, like lizards or snakes. The pupil shrinks, and it floats upward. I don't know what it wants, but I no longer wanna put up with the chilling anticipation of what this thing could do to me. I turn and run. I hear a crack, like that of a whip, and a suction, drawing me back. The fog clears and reveals empty blackness. I look behind me, still running and see the hypnotic clouds of fog disappear into a infinite seeming tunnel, the eye resuming its hard stare at me._

 _IT'S JUST A DREAM._

 _My fists feel like concrete and my chest a rush, filled with adrenaline. I turn with a smirk and allow for the creature to reel me into the tunnel. Something I love about these Lucid dreams: You can do anything. Suddenly, I'm strapped with some form of black body armor and out of nowhere, I draw out a katana. So awesome. Again, the pupil of that creep shrinks and my blade pierces right through it. A bulls-eye. The entirety of the tunnel dissipates from existence and I'm left with the eye, limp on the ground, like a beached jellyfish. For sheer amusement, I poke it with the katana. What's next?_

 _"Ouch"_

 _What? That voice..._

 _Out from the slime stands a girl with long, chestnut hair. Brushing off her skirt and kicking the fragments of jelly from her boots, she cleans the lenses in her frames and looks to me. "Hey"_

 _"Daria?"_

 _"Of course I'm not Daria. I'm a figment of your imagination. Just an animated image in your unconscious"_

 _"Well, yeah I gathered" I say dully, not amused by her matter-of-fact statement._

 _"Why've you been running away from me?"_

 _"Because, I can't bare the inevitable"_

 _"Which is...?"_

 _"I can't stand the idea of telling you my feelings. I'd think I'd just drive us apart"_

 _"Right"_

 _"I didn't ask to feel like this, Daria! I'm not happy with this situation at all. It sucks! I wish it would leave and I wish it would die! I was happy with you as my friend. I was happy knowing I didn't have to care so much. Why do I care now? What's the deal?" I verbally lash out. I know she's not really there, so there's no consequences with what I say._

 _"So, you DO love me?"_

 _"Of course I love you! I mean..." my hands tremble with self-hatred, rage, then I sigh, my arms going limp._

 _"You're afraid of me knowing your feelings?"_

 _Technically, I realize I'm just talking to myself at this point, just with Daria's voice being on the other end. I feel like I need to reside somewhere in that book she was reading on my bed the other day. Not in a strait-jacket, maybe just a padded cell, a little like her bedroom. God dammit!_

 _"Yeah, I'm afraid!" I respond, spitefully. Daria steps over to me._

 _"Jane, the worst that could happen is me saying 'I don't feel the same way'. I don't have any disdain for gay people, so we can still have a chance of being friends"_

 _"I'M NOT GAY!" I shout._

* * *

"Miss Lane?" calls Miss Defoe, gently shaking my shoulder. _  
_

I jump, startled by the contact. I then realize everybody's staring at me. I turn and look at my work. It looks a little like the logo for Sick Sad World, at least the swirl of clouds does. A white figure, me, is stabbing through the giant eye, limp on the ground. There's scratches of red paint, almost to resemble blood, made everywhere on the picture, like I was half attempting to destroy it. My heart is still leaping in my throat. I zoned out too much.

"Are you alright, Miss Lane?" she asks, her mood in tone indicting wanting to usher me away somewhere to talk. I don't wanna talk. To anybody. I feel myself shaking a little from the adrenaline in my dream recollection. I walk out the room. I hear Daria calling out for me before I close the door behind me.

* * *

As the paint temporarily bleeds into the hot water, getting washed off, the moment gives me time to recollect myself. Perhaps I HAVE made this too personal. Damn Daria and her logic. Where did these thoughts and feelings even come from? None of this occurred to me at all before this stupid experiment. I'd brought the clutter in my brain to a stand still and now all I can hear are these questions. "Does Daria feel the same?", "Could we have a chance?", "Would I be pushing her away?" SHUT UP! There's been no clear indication until now that I had feelings for her. Was I just stupid or blind?

"Oh hi Jane!"

I cringe in response to the squeaky projection of idiocy coming from behind me.

"Brittany" I acknowledge, with a small grunt.

"Your painting looks good... although... It's a little scary"

"Yeah, yeah... as is the case with almost all my paintings" I shrug, drying my hands.

"No, I mean when you were in there just now. Usually, you look pretty... I dunno... happy with what you're doing. You seem confident-"

That word.

"Confident and pretty chilled. But, just a while ago, you were trembling, indecisive with your actions, you even started scratching your canvas pretty wildly"

"Great, as if I didn't have enough positive attributes to my reputation already. Now I'm a nutcase. That's a tasteful one to add to the list"

"So..." she continued, twirling her hair. "I just wanted to see if you were oka-"

"I'm fine"

"Really?"

"Yeah. Feeling better already, now that I've talked it out to you" I say hurriedly, in an efforts to get this personified, static joy bundle away from me.

"Well, no problem!" she emits, her cheer as bright as a neon light.

"Okay. Go back to the room. I'll be there in a sec"

She nods and prances out the bathroom. I roll my eyes and just when I think the worst is over...

"Hey, Drama queen"

...

"Last time I checked, you weren't committed. So you may have failed in your attempts in outsider art with your creative establishing of impasto" Daria commented dully.

...

"Jane, it's been nearly a week. Why won't you talk to me?"

"I haven't been... feeling right"

"It's the experiment, isn't it? Maybe you should give it a break"

"I have. But I keep having these dreams. They won't go away"

"Well, lessons are almost over. Shall we discuss it over pizza? I'm buying"

"I dunno" I mutter, reluctant.

"Please?"

I can't resist it. I can't avoid her forever. That would just drive her away completely and I can't bare the thought of that.

"Not in the mood for pizza. But, you can come over to my place and we can order later"

* * *

 **Daria**

From what I felt, things were going better than expected. I figured whatever Jane wasn't telling me, it was really eating away at her. I'd hate to think for whatever reason I couldn't help her. Unlike what Jodie said before, I don't think this silence is a want for an expansion of personal space, it's almost like a cry for help, and thankfully, my interpretation may very well be correct. Hearing the jingling of Jane's keys and opening the front door, I've always felt comforted coming here. Oddly enough, it's as if I have a second home, when I know that's far from the truth.

Heading into the room, she throws her bag on the floor and sits on the bed, switching on the TV for audio accompaniment.

"You err... don't mind if I look at your paintings, do you?" I ask, seeing the collection of canvases stored at the side by her easel.

"Sure" she allows, dismissive in her voice. It's hard to tell if it's genuine lack of care, or a facade, a mask of her true emotions. I guess I'll find out soon. The pictures range from an A5-A1 size. The smaller ones have less detail, but still deliver information in-explicitly. Black, green and reds. One of them is pure scratches across a solid black background, like a whirlwind, with two white dots in the low center. Seriously, after what she displayed today, it's easy to tell that the scratching is kind of a statement of frustration and anger. There's a sting in my chest understanding that now. From what I'm picking up, according to the resemblance with the colours; obviously green being for myself and red for Jane, all of these paintings from her Lucid Dreams are about us. I hold up the small, scratched one to her.

"So the re-enactment of the crazy cat lady today wasn't the first time?" I suggest, cockily.

"Eh, I think there's a crazy cat lady in us all, wants to lash out and eat tinned tuna and crab meat once in a while"

It's nice to be like this again. It seems like forever since I've just sat here with her and had the pleasure to hear her voice.

"Brittany was right though, even painting, you weren't acting like yourself"

"You heard from Brittany?" she queried, tilting her head to me.

"Jane, I can hear her chew toy vocals from miles away"

"Oh"

"Even then, I didn't have to hear from her. You're worrying me"

"WORRYING you? Oh my, I think there's been a breakthrough on your connection with regular human emotions"

I've missed her snarky attitude and her aura. I can't let it distract me though. I put down the painting and sit with her on the bed.

"Speak for yourself. If it weren't for your display in Art class, I'd have thought your emotions had been completely withdrawn from your system"

She looks to me, sternly "Well I can tell you, my emotions are functioning pretty okee dokee right now"

"Maybe so, but they're being ignited so easily. You seem on edge"

"God, Daria. Can I not experience some sense of humanity without you judging me?" she bites. This is pissing me off.

"I'm not judging you Jane, I want to know what's bothering you. Ever since you showed me that painting, I've been feeling a distance between us. Did I say something I shouldn't have? Did I do anything?"

"No you didn't!"

"Then why have you been avoiding me? It gives me the idea that I've hurt you and you know that's the last thing I'd ever want to do"

Her tone abruptly softens. Her fierce front has been knocked down. "I... I know"

Jane looks away, a dim mood printed on her face. She hugs her knees, staring at the screen.

"I just want you to understand that... everything is so loud right now. I guess after silencing my head, whats left to actually listen to is amplified. It's all that there is and all I can think about. I want it to leave and I try to distract myself to cluster my head up again to drown it out, but now I know it's there... I can't ignore it"

I listen closely. She's not crying, but her voice is croaky, quiet. I reach to rub her back soothingly and she offers me a tiny, pained smile. Her eyes are just orb cages to a misery festering deep within her.

"Tell me when you're ready... whatever it is, even if you think it's insignificant or not worth my while, you're my friend and I'm listening" I say calmly.

She nods and turns her head away and back to the screen. Both our visions fixate on the box with flickering colours and noises. I think maybe without directly looking at each other, it'll make things easier for her to say. Maybe that's what she's thinking.

...

...

"...I love you"

 **End of Part 2**


	3. You're standing on my neck

**Jane**

"I love you" I say casually.

Last time I'd made a big deal out of it, to confirm that the expression was not like... that. But, this time it is. I figure if I say it now, it'll lessen the blow. That's my theory anyway. Only now, it IS meant to be in a romantic context. And this is how I do it, confessing to her amidst watching TV. Ain't I a charmer? What a memory that'd be for her. In any case, I've told her, but the burden isn't totally abandoned yet.

"Mmm" she hums in response, with a nod. I don't know if she didn't hear it or just pretended not to.

I turn on my side on the bed to look at her properly and her eyes lock with mine this time.

"I love you" I repeat, a little softer, just above a whisper.

The glow from the television blankets us on the bed, wavering. Right now, all I'm doing is observing her usual nonchalant expression. Any indication for disgust, panic, hate? It seems clear for now. Maybe she's not sure if she heard me right. It's not like the way I've said it can be interpreted as a joke and I hadn't said it in an over the top way either. It was deadpan. To the point.

 **Daria**

Okay, it's confirmed now, I think. My best friend has been struggling with her sexuality and a romantic attachment to me. For once, I don't even know if I can reply to that. She seems serious. Is she? Is she really in love with me? It's not a possibility I've even considered. It's never occurred to me. For the time we've known each other, we've both only had interest in guys. So, is she bi? Is this a one off? Where did this come from? Were the guys she was with a cover up of her identity or even a way to get my attention? What do I say to this?

"Err... why?"

Good job, brain. Don't forget to breathe in and out, sleep, eat...

My directness and bluntness obviously catches her off guard. It's a neutral response, a question, I find.

"Well, I feel we have a good connection. There's something that clicks with us, it feels... right"

I guess now that I look at it, it makes sense. The past week, all of this art has revolved around us,... me specifically. That's why she wasn't acting like herself. That's why she was asking my opinion so much instead of giving me her own. She just didn't wanna come out and say it. I feel bad for pushing her, but I didn't wanna see her hurt herself or shut herself away.

"We share the same sense of humor, similar views on the world and society, you... make me feel not so alone"

When she showed me that painting the other day and held me, I thought of it more of a platonic thing. Nothing like 'Sisterly Love', cus honestly, if I know anything about having a sibling, those words do not go together for clear reasons. When she told me she loved me, I was taken aback, 'cus for one thing, I'd never heard anybody directly say that to me outside my family. I had essentially no friends growing up, I haven't even had a crush who's said that to me. So to have Jane say that outta the blue was like a static shock. I wasn't scared, confused or put off, I just didn't know what to think. Maybe my reaction scared her. Yeah. I think looking back on it, it's starting to make a bit of sense.

"Saying your smart is an understatement; you're enlightening, analytical, observant, logical. Even when we mess about and take the piss, our remarks bounce off one another, and build up, like we're telling some twisted story of our own lives. Like some silly documentary of ourselves in every day suburban Lawndale High experience, survival of the fittest among the thickest. It's fun. It's hard to find anyone like that that can actually even understand that"

There are times when I'm with Jane and, I wouldn't say it's like I'm talking to a mirror, 'cus we're not THAT identical according to our traits, but, it almost feels like the kinda person I've been wanting to be with for so long. There's life and a spark in our bond unlike anything either of us have with anybody else. The question is do I really consider her to be THAT person? I don't even know how I would be dating another girl.

 **Jane**

I've now been gazing at Daria for so long, I think I can see the cogs and other pieces of mechanics functioning in that head of hers. She's processing. Don't panic. Just shut up and give her room and time. You've told her. You've told her why you like her. Don't over do it. I roll onto my back again and look to the TV. There's a lightness I feel deep inside me. There's that burden thrown off the donkey's back. It feels good, but I don't know whether that's a false sense of security. I've yet to hear her response from her.

 _'Meet the cannibal with a heart... quick, before he eats it! Next on Sick, Sad World!'_

"I'm pretty sure we've seen this one before" I mumble. Damn repeats.

"How long have you felt this way about me?" I finally hear. Her voice is a little shaky. Uh-oh.

I rub the back of my neck anxiously, my face is starting to heat up a bit "I can't be certain. I can't pin point an exact moment, but looking back, I guess there were... vibes I got that may indicate my growing fondness of you"

"Fondness? Vibes?" she echoes strangely, looking at me. I can't make eye contact.

"I don't know. Look, I'm doing my hardest not to creep you out or scare you off" I say nervously.

"You aren't doing either of those things. This is just news to me and I'm trying to understand it"

"Err, I guess implying by your detached stance you... don't reciprocate these feelings?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

I laugh sheepishly. "Okay, that's grand. Let's forget I said a thing and carry on as normal, 'cus that suits me down to the ground"

She looks down for a second, as if contemplating something. "You know how I said the other day that spontaneous speech and acts of raw emotion may cause one to be questioned?"

"Um... yeah?"

"Well,... don't question me on this"

Before I can respond, I feel the warmth of her hand on my cheek, as she leans in and kisses me. It's a quick peck, but feeling the unreal sensation of her soft lips on mine is all it takes to send a bolt of electricity through me. When she pulls away, the velvety touch of her hand remains on my cheek, sliding off to mere fingertips and then gone. My face is on fire and her own cheeks are tainted a rich crimson red.

 **Daria**

An act on a whim seemed appropriate to demonstrate my own uncertainty of my feelings in the situation. Or at least assured her that even I can be an awkward doofus when it comes to displaying such feelings. Looking at her now, she seems absolutely stupefied. Oh god. What have I done? I haven't killed off any brain cells, have I? Please don't go into a vegetative state, Jane.

"D-Daria..." she finally responds, in a delicate whisper. Hearing my own name from her like that makes my stomach tie itself in a knot.

"I just... wanted you to know... I'm not opposed to the idea of... giving us a chance" I manage. Very smooth, Morgendorffer. "And the last thing I want is for there to be any kinda tension or break with us. You're the only friend I've ever had, Jane, and I sure as heck wouldn't have been able to get through High school without you"

Her dumbfoundedness is thankfully temporary and I'm relieved to see my friend mirror my own interpretation of the Mona Lisa smile. "Well, private Morgendorffer, it's been an honor to stick along side you on this treacherous, mind-numbing journey" she says, her voice laced with feign conceit. That's enough to soften the whole mood. The atmosphere of hanging dread was killing me.

"Now, on a more serious note, Private Benjamin, what shall we do with this information?"

"Daria, It's up to you. If you're straight, or just not into me and not wanting for things to change, I completely understand. This is just something I felt I had to say in order to placate my mentality. I'm just sorry that you ended up being the core subject during my experiment" Jane draws out, plainly.

"It's not your fault. You didn't even realize it beforehand" I console.

She nods. I shuffle myself up to lay beside her more closely as we watch TV. "Besides, I'm not in a position to clarify to you that your feelings for me are non-reciprocated"

Her eyes widen a little and she turns her head to look at me. I can see hope dancing in those eyes.

"I mean, I've often wondered why I'd get jealous at the drop of a hat, the moment another living, thinking, breathing creature interacts with you. During your running on the track team, I dunno what came over me. I used to just think that 'Of course I'd get mad, you're my only friend, so it's understandable that I'd get sensitive when another person interferes with our routine'. I treated everybody and everyTHING as a threat to the stability of our relationship. It was because just wanted you for myself. I was being selfish"

"Yeah, you do suck at hiding your jealousy" she smirks, blushing lightly at her admittance to a possessive nature.

"Thanks, Elaine Thompson. Next time I want to address my errors, I can just scratch it onto a canvas, like a feral animal"

She chuckles softly and sighs in contentment, as do I. Things finally feel as they should again. Carefree.

As our eyeballs hook onto the projected subliminal messaging on the noise box, I feel a wave of heat consume my face as I feel Jane's fingers entwine with mine. I squeeze her hand lightly in return.

 **Jane**

It seems as if I've exorcised a rancid spirit from my cranium and Jane Lane is free once again to live as the cynical artist she once was. I can literally feel that 'aura' radiating from me again. I feel bold and adventurous, but I know sure as heck to go easy on Daria. If things don't work out, we'll be alright. We'll still be freakin' friends. Dammit, I can't take this a second longer!

I throw my arm over her shoulder, bring up her chin with my other hand and press my lips to hers. That spark I felt from before is addictive and from the minor jolt of surprise from her, I know she can feel it too. Our lips brush together softly, tenderly and my stomach does back-flips, feeling her fingers run through my raven locks with ease. Both hands clasp behind my head softly, keeping me close and, jestingly, I lick along her smooth lips.

This results in her withdrawing from me in shock. She's not wiping her mouth in disgust, rather covering it with a fist in surprise, her face a stark, peachy glow. She frowns at me and I return her a roguish grin, cocking a brow and my head playfully. For a moment, she looks to the side, the cogs in her brain at work, until she scoots back over, nuzzling into me. My arm drapes around her in a loose embrace and I chuckle to myself.

"This impish behavior isn't going to be a THING, is it?" she mumbles un-enthusiastically.

"Only NOW you've noticed? Boy, you must've been asleep throughout half our friendship, Daria"

"As opposed to you LITERALLY being asleep for an estimated half?" she verbally prodded.

"Hey, an artist is made easily weary by a 24/7 highly stimulated, imaginative mindset"

"By highly stimulated, you mean the pizzas, candy packs and ultra cola you stack up on in your daily diet?"

"Daria, we're teenagers. We need junk food to process and live through this dreary existence during school hours"

"...Jane?" I sigh.

"Daria?"

"You're standing on my neck"

* * *

 **Daria**

I'd learned from last time I stayed over at Jane's to come prepared with clothing. I'd be caught dead wearing her grandmothers nightie... again. Stuffed up on pepperoni pizza, the rich cheesy stench sure to turn sickly and stale by the morning, I turned off the light. This time, I share the bed with Jane. Figures I go to turn off the light. Now I can't see a thing.

"Marco" the wonder woman calls to me, no doubt a stupid smirk on her face. I wonder aimlessly.

"Polo" I reply

"Marco"

"Po- *WHACK!* Ooow!"

My face contorts with annoyance, as I can hear her snickering. I get on the bed, tugging the duvet over myself, facing away from her.

"Good job, Sherlock. Hope there's no serious damage"

"I stubbed my toe on your damn easel" I retort, grumpy, my big toe throbbing.

Her arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me into a tight hug, resulting in my face cooking for the dozenth time this evening.

"I'm pretty sure my easel didn't appreciate you kicking it"

"Well, screw you" I bite, still blushing.

Once her self-amusement packs in, the serenity of the night starts to lull me into relaxation, accompanied by the rhythmic clock ticking. How she doesn't hear that thing is beyond me, not that it bothers me.

"I love you" she whispers in my ear. It's so quiet I can feel my heart thumping in my chest.

"..."

"..."

"...I love you too"

I find myself in bed somehow with a Boa constrictor. Her arms tighten around me, snugly and she pronounces an affectionate squeak as she buries her face into my shoulder. My hands rest upon hers, clapped around my belly and I feel myself drift off to sleep.

* * *

 _I feel my back collide with an icy, fluid surface. I break through and feel myself captive, sealed. It's thin, yet thick. I'm strong, yet weak. Eventually, I feel the air escape my lungs and I feel myself falling slowly. I can see numerous protrusions of light blinking and glaring at me from above, with pellets of rain causing a series of ripples to disrupt the stillness its trying to regain. I'm sinking more and more and I can feel the cold sear right through my being and the darkness swarm about me. I'm not afraid of it. I like it. I'd rather be down here. It's quiet, calm and no one can find me here. My eyes close as I find myself falling into a deep sleep._

 _As I descend, I feel motion among the water and suddenly, my eyes open to find Jane's. She pulls me into an embrace and I can feel what's left of her personal warmth. She caresses my cheek then captures my lips with hers. We'll fall, down into the dark... together._

 ** _The End_**

 **(Welp, all done. Hope you enjoyed this and if you'd like me to write more stuff, I'd be happy too. Bye bye!)**


End file.
